


The Story of Eglantine Price

by qoldwater



Category: Bedknobs and Broomsticks (1971), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Correspondence College of Witchcraft, Crossover, Diagon Alley, Established Relationship, F/F, Global Wizarding War, Hogwarts Second Year, Loneliness, Muggle Interference, Non-Canon Sexuality, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Post-Canon Bedknobs and Broomsticks, Sunday Prophet, World War II, happiness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 16:57:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qoldwater/pseuds/qoldwater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is the summer before the second year at Hogwarts and Hermione, Harry, and Ron are getting supplies in Diagon Alley. While they're strolling along the winding, cobbled street, Hermione reveals that she would like to visit an unusual witch whom she corresponded with.<br/>* * *<br/>Eglantine Price had always had a bit of a knack for witchcraft. Common spells and simple charms came naturally to her. So, with this fanfic I wanted to give her a life in which she didn't give up witchcraft.<br/>As opposed to the end of the film, she does stay true to her character which is portrayed in the first half of the film: She remains an active woman and won't let a man take charge of her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Story of Eglantine Price

 

         “Before we go to Flourish and Blotts, I’d like to visit someone down the alley, will you join me?” asked Hermione. Harry and Ron looked at each other baffled but nonetheless followed her. “Who are you possibly going to visit in Diagon Alley?” asked Ron, raising an eyebrow.

         “Well,” Hermione began, “The _Sunday Prophet_ started this column about the dangers of interferences with the Muggles and the Muggle world. There was one article about a witch who fought back a small group of German soldiers who crossed the Channel in 1940 for an invasion of a tiny village in the very south of England. Their attempt failed because this witch used medieval armour and weapons to drive them back. The author of the article stated that it was not only unnecessary because there was military personnel in the village, but also one of the most dangerous exposures of witchcraft to Muggles ever. It is regarded as one of the biggest breaches of the Statute of Secrecy and according to the Ministry that was only possible because the witch was protected by a powerful charm that hid her from the wizarding world. On their way back all the soldiers drowned, but it is not known whether this was an accident or caused by wizardkind —”

         “And now you are going to visit whoever caused the drowning?” interrupted Ron. Hermione started to walk faster and continued. “No, I’m going to visit Eglantine Price, the witch who fought the soldiers. It was only after that event that she learned there were other witches and wizards. She had no idea that there was a magical community! Just like any Muggle-born or you, Harry. Only she was an adult and not eleven years old. But there was no other word about her life in the article, they didn’t explain how she was under a charm yet didn’t know anything about it. Or why she could cast spells without ever going to a wizarding school.

         “I wrote her a letter explaining that I was impressed by what she did and asking how she was able to learn witchcraft. I received her answer last week.” She pulled out a letter and started reading out loud.

> _Dear Ms Granger,_
> 
> _Thank you very much for your most kind letter. While I have never considered myself a prominent person the article in the_ Sunday Prophet _did cause a certain amount of stir in my now quiet life. Since my actions from over fifty years ago are seen negatively by most, I am grateful for your encouraging words. As you know, I was only introduced to the wizarding world in 1940, when I was already forty years old. I didn’t receive any professional training in my younger life, but I was able to teach myself some spells with the help of a book that was found by a Muggle who thought he tricked me into believing in something that was only rubbish. But_ The Spells of Astoroth, _being the name of the book, certainly did contain instructions for working spells and charms that I was able to learn. It was only a few days after casting the spell evicting the Nazis when I was visited by representatives of the Ministry who informed me of my crimes. At first, it seemed that I had to go to Azkaban, which in my ignorance I didn’t dread. But eventually, I was offered a deal instead of going to Azkaban. It not only included me being taught by several witches and wizards everything that is usually taught to wizarding children and more, but also a year of servitude to the Department of Defence — ironically, after four years of learning, I was sent to Germany as a spy to learn about the doings of Gellert Grindelwald. I safely returned to Britain in 1945 and tried to continue living an ordinary life in Pepperinge Eye where I had lived my whole live. But as it turned out, that was not possible._
> 
> _Please do come visit me in 442 Diagon Alley for a cup of tea. If you are fond of life stories, I would very much like to tell you more._
> 
> _Sincerely,_
> 
> _Eglantine Price_

         “Isn’t that exciting!” Hermione almost squeaked. “Just a lonely old woman that has nobody she can talk to,” said Ron, rolling his eyes. “Maybe she can tell us about how she managed to connect with the magical community,” argued Harry, trying to lift Ron’s mood. “Yes, I hope she was able to do that,” said Hermione, “but since she only entered our world when she was already forty years old, it’s possible that she never truly became a part of it.” Ron let out a loud sigh, ”She _lives_ in Diagon Alley, I doubt she’s excluded from the magical community!”

         “We’ll learn the truth quite soon, I hope,” said Hermione and stopped in front of a small building. The ground floor clearly was a shop, but the windows didn’t reveal anything, only thick dark curtains. Above the door was a sign that read DRAGON LIVER – RARE ORGANS AND MORE. Suddenly, Hermione wasn’t sure anymore whether she wanted to enter the almost eerie shop. “442 Diagon Alley, this must be it,” she said, but didn’t move and neither did the other two. “Should we go in?” asked Harry. “What kind of a shop is this?” asked Hermione instead of answering. “They probably sell potion ingredients,” said Ron and stepped towards the door. Just as he reached it he stopped and looked back. Hermione twisted her mouth, pushed him aside, opened the door and stepped inside, followed by Harry and Ron.

         Inside, there was only a counter in a small room, which they almost filled. There was no one behind the counter. The heavy curtains blocked the outside noise. In the sudden silence they didn’t dare to say anything and stared silently at the door behind the counter, which was the only thing in the empty room that wasn’t plain. There were multiple engravings in medieval style, showing witches and wizards on brooms with cats or standing next to huge pots, stirring.

         When the door suddenly opened the three of them winced. An elderly witch walked in with long silver hair in outdated but elegant robes. She looked at them in surprise but her expression quickly changed to a frown. “We don’t take orders from children, nor do we sell anything to them. Good day!” she said sharply and was about to close the door again, when Hermione exclaimed, “Ms Price!” The witch stopped and looked at her piercingly, “I’m not Ms Price. What do you want from her?” she said in a low voice. “I’m Hermione Granger, I wrote her a letter about the article in the _Sunday Prophet_ ,” the girl replied shyly. The older witch leaned over the counter and raised her eyebrows, “Oh,” she said exhaling and almost laughing. “Really, _you_ are _Ms_ Granger? Yes, Eglantine told me about your letter. She was very excited about it. I suppose you can come upstairs for a cup of tea.” Hermione looked nervously to the boys. “Your friends too,” the witch added.

         She opened the door widely and signalled the three of them to walk through. While Hermione quickly started walking, Ron needed a tug from Harry to start moving. “Take the stairs,” ordered the intimidating woman. She overtook them on the way up, while the three of them lingered because they couldn’t stop gazing around the storeroom which was full of boxes and jars with contents that looked like a wide range of organs and other unidentifiable things.

         Reaching the first floor, they followed a corridor towards an open door. “Eglantine!” the witch spoke loudly, “ _Miss_ Granger is here. She brought two friends as well.” They entered a room, which revealed itself to be a large living room. There were several packed bookshelves along the wall and in the centre a round table. But instead of common chairs, there were six unusually high and well-cushioned red armchairs surrounding it. In one of them sat a very old witch with a wild, short hairstyle that was coloured orange. Her legs were folded and fully on the armchair as if she were practicing yoga. She was reading a heavy book that was placed on her lap. She straightened herself from the hunched position and looked towards the guests.

         “Oh. Hello. I didn’t realise that you were a child. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Do come in and have a seat. Ethel, would you be so kind and bring us some tea and biscuits.” The three children climbed the armchairs not without difficulties, leaving one seat on either side of Eglantine Price free. “I’m afraid the armchairs weren’t made for small people,” apologised Eglantine. Ethel came back with a tray carrying a steaming pot and a bowl full of green and orange biscuits. While she put everything on the table, Harry looked puzzled at the unusual baked goods; Ron was almost in disappointing shock. Observing them, Eglantine chuckled and said to the other witch, “Oh, Ethel, I forgot. Children don’t like vegetables. Do we not have some of the sweet kind?” Since Hermione felt like trying the vegetable biscuits, she proclaimed, “I do like vegetables.” But Ethel already took them away and left the room rolling her eyes. “Don’t worry about it,” Eglantine said. “Ethel is my partner, we’ve been running the shop since the late fifties. We don’t really interact with children, since we don’t sell anything to underage witches and wizards. And we don’t have children of our own, neither do our few friends.” Ethel came back, “These are ginger,” she said, almost kindly, with a hint of a smile, “I hope you’ll like them. — I’ll be down, Willie’s here,” she said her partner and left.

         The children had trouble reaching for the cups and biscuits because they’ve already sunk deep into seating surface. “Oh, are you not allowed to use magic in Diagon Alley?” Eglantine asked, but didn’t wait for an answer, reached for her wand and made the table stretch over their laps so that they could easily help themselves. Ron clearly liked the biscuits, eating one after another. The ancient witch reached for her cup of tea and the four of them remained silent for a minute, all sipping the steaming beverage.

         Hermione cleared her throat after eating one of the biscuits. “Did you receive any other letters apart from mine?” she asked. “Well,” Eglantine started, “Ever since my actions against the Muggles became known in the late forties, I receive correspondence again and again from people I don’t know at all. But for the past two, maybe three decades I thankfully stopped being in people’s minds and the letters have become rare. The article of course not only refreshed the memories of some, but also introduced my actions to a new public, so to speak. But that led only to a handful of unpleasant letters. They are all rather dull; no one was able to argue convincingly.

         “I can gladly say the attention this time is negligible compared to what a stir I caused the first time everything was broadcast around the wizarding world. Many wrote to me expressing their fury and even disgust for my violations. But these letters weren’t the ones that got to me, I couldn’t care for what all those strangers thought about me. What was really shocking to me were all the letters from wizards that congratulated me for what I did to the Muggles. Many believed that I killed the German soldiers by sinking their boat, which is nonsense of course. I fought them because they were Nazis and they threatened the security of Great Britain, not because they were Muggles. I couldn’t believe that there were many of us who showed a mindset not much unlike Britain’s extremist enemies. Up to that point I have been happily living among Muggles all my life, I didn’t hate them at all. But those who did, thought I was one of them, which was profoundly unsettling for me. During the first few years after returning from Germany I lived a rather unhappy life. I wasn’t welcomed to the magical community with open arms, you see.

         “But soon after meeting Ethel in 1949, I was able to start a new life and sort of settle in. When Ethel’s grandfather died in 1958 none of her family members wanted to inherit the shop, so we decided to carry it on. Her family was not interested in the shop because it didn’t bring in a substantial amount of money. Dimitrios, her grandfather, specialised in rarities which were mostly used as ingredients for potions, but we broadened the range of products and introduced an order service. We obtain anything rare you need that isn’t highly illegal. Eventually, we didn’t really accumulate much more money than the shop did before our takeover, but we made numerous connections and business relations which is of course just as rewarding.”

         Eglantine took another sip of tea. Hermione used the break to ask, “Are you a Muggle-born?” The elderly witch shifted in her chair, “Well, my father was a Muggle. But my mother, whom I’ve never met, was a witch. It is not known whether she died shortly after I was born or if she simply disappeared. She broke off the contact to her family long before she met my father. She kept the relationship secret and when she became pregnant, she protected our estate from detection effectively with numerous charms. Neither her family nor anyone else in the wizarding community knew of my existence because of that. Unfortunately, I have no way of telling whether my father knew anything about our kind. It is possible he consciously refused to tell me anything. Maybe he was aware of my mother’s nature and suspected that I was a squib. I don’t think I ever showed any sings of magical ability in his presence. But I myself realised that I had a bit of a knack for witchcraft; common spells and simple charms came naturally. I deliberately hid it all from my father and the rest of the village, because I thought being a witch wouldn’t be received very well. I also didn’t see any use in revealing it. The things I was able to perform are not even worth mentioning. My view on what I could or couldn’t and should or shouldn’t do changed when the Muggle war began. My father was a military man and active in the First World War before he died. I inherited his spirit and on the brink of yet another global Muggle war, I wanted to contribute to the well-being of the country. When I read a silly advertisement for an alleged Correspondence College of Witchcraft, I seized the opportunity and enrolled. Even though a Muggle charlatan led the college, the spells were working. Of course, looking back now those few spells seem petty. Nonetheless, thanks to the most powerful of them, I was able to repulse the enemy.

         “That was also the first time I used magic away from my house where my mother’s charms were not effective and therefore I was finally discovered. It was the summer of 1940, when London was in danger of getting attacked. As a wise precautionary measure, many children were evacuated to the countryside, including Pepperinge Eye, my home village. Since I lived alone in a big house, I was forced to harbour three siblings, one girl and two boys. That was not at all easy for me because, really, children and I don’t get along. At least back then. After I spent some time with them, however, I came to almost value the three. And since they were orphans I was ready to let them live with me. But in my heart, I knew it wasn’t right. I changed, but only to adapt to their way of living. I even decided to cease practicing witchcraft. So it was in my best interest that the Ministry soon discovered my presence. They used a false memory charm on the children and I never saw them again.”

         Eglantine stared at her teacup absorbed in thought. “I’m sorry,” Hermione eventually whispered. “Oh, not to worry,” Eglantine Price replied, “It really was for the best. Children and I don’t get along.” She sighed. “But what followed wasn’t easy. I was on trial, sent in front of the Wizengamot. Because of my unique situation, the verdict was no hard punishment at all. I received mandatory training for four years to become what they called a proper witch and following the completion, I had to work one year for the Ministry of Defence abroad as an informant. Afterwards, I returned to Pepperinge Eye expecting to continue my segregated life but this was when the interviews and all the attention from the wizarding community started. I had many visitors but hardly any of them made me feel welcome in our community. On the contrary, I didn’t feel I belonged to any community. After my four years of absence even the Muggles of Pepperinge Eye shunned me, for whatever reason. In my Twenties and Thirties I’ve lived a happy life, alone in my big house, but never had I felt lonely. Never. But when I was supposed to become part of the magical community and was forced to come into contact with so many of the wizardkind, I really was lonely.

         “But all things come to an end, and so did my misery. Ethel was the first witch that showed true kindness towards me. It was through her that I finally and genuinely became a part of the wizarding world and was ultimately able to enjoy my life. More than ever. We left that godforsaken place and travelled the world for seven years —”

         “I’m sorry, Ms Price,” said Harry, almost inaudibly. “W-we have to. Our families —,” he began stuttering, looking nervously to Hermione. She met his look, narrowing her eyes to slits but understood. “We’re very sorry, Ms Price,” she said. “Our families are waiting for us, we must be going. Thank you ever so much for sharing your story.” She and Harry climbed down from the chair. Harry shook Ron awake. “No need to thank me, I’m happy you were eager to hear me babbling on. No strangers have shown such an interest in me in the recent two or three decades,” she said smilingly. Ethel appeared in the doorframe. “Be so kind and show them out.”

 

*

 

         They said goodbye to each other and Hermione asked whether it was all right if she wrote again. Eglantine Price was eventually left alone again in her living room. She wondered if that really was her story. Does all that define who she is today? She shook her head. “What really counts are all the years with Ethel,” she said softly to herself. In the forties, she thought she fell in love with a man. But at the time she didn’t realise that this couldn’t possibly be true love. That charlatan Emelius Browne only made her lose her head. Fortunately he didn’t return after the war as promised, which made her wonder why she could ever fall for this trickster. Maybe it was the illusion of the rightfulness of a traditional family that blinded her judgement, even if they never really represented a truly traditional family.

            She left that all behind over forty years ago, she thought. It doesn’t matter anymore, no use to squander any thoughts. What really matters is her new self. Not the story she just told, but the story of how she became happy.

 


End file.
